Thursday, March 5, 2020

Mother


She begun her day with charcoal 
And ends her day with crockeries. 
Not for fame but for home!
She burnt her flesh, 
And loved her blood. 
But she was not a matter of concern, 
As she was a mother who conceived dreams. 

Swansong

This is my swan song I lay down my pen with a trembling sigh, Curtailing the voice of my dreaming muse, For none remain to read, and none t...